Spirit of the Fae (Dragon's Gift The Dark Fae #4) - Linsey Hall Page 0,1

murmured.

I caught sight of it at the edge of my vision. A black thread of mist was snaking through the rest, pollution of some kind.

Instinct screamed through me. “Avoid it.”

We veered right, away from the thread of black mist that reached for us.

I picked up the pace, muttering, “Thank fates I died in my fight wear.”

Tarron chuckled, and we moved faster, sticking close together as we cut between the trees. Shadows flashed in the corner of my vision.

“Down!” Tarron lunged toward me, forcing me to the side.

He shifted to block me from attack. Panic spiked in my chest. He grunted as something hit him. He stumbled, staying in front of me.

“Don’t risk yourself to protect me,” I hissed, remembering the horror of him dying. I couldn’t survive that again.

His gaze flashed to mine, deadly determined. “I’ll always protect you.”

I swallowed hard, pushing away the surge of emotion. There was no time for this.

I darted around him, catching sight of a splotch of dark magic that stained his partially transparent shoulder. He groaned and tried to straighten.

We’re under attack.

I crouched low, drawing my shield from the ether as I searched the surrounding forest. My heartbeat thundered in my head—a reminder of my mortality.

I could die here. For real die.

Somehow, I felt it.

About forty feet away, I spotted a dark shadow. It looked like the grim reaper, but partially transparent. As if it were made of mist that formed a long dark cloak and hood. Ethereal black wings rose up from the creature’s back. It drifted among the white clouds that hovered low at its feet.

I shivered.

Fucking creepy.

My dagger had fallen when Tarron had saved me. I reached for it and hurled it at the figure. The blade flew through the air, straight and true.

Then sailed right through the ephemeral form.

“Shit.”

Tarron’s magic flared. The limbs of the tree nearest the reaper trembled and bent down a few feet, reaching for him, then sprang back into place.

He cursed. “My powers don’t work here. The tree roots and earth aren’t responding.”

Shit. Just like mine.

The shadowy figure drifted toward us. The scent of death and decay rolled through the mist, preceding the monster. It raised an arm, the black cloak fluttering in the breeze as it hurled a midnight ball of mist right at us.

I ducked behind my shield.

Pain exploded against my arm.

I gasped, clutching it.

The mist had flown right through my shield!

Sickness surged inside my stomach. I looked down, spotting a dark stain on my arm—the creature’s dark magic. Just like Tarron’s wound.

“Run!” I scrambled upright.

Tarron followed, and we sprinted away from the figure.

More tendrils of dark mist crept out from the forest around us, snaking along the ground and twisting around tree trunks. I leapt over them as I ran, looking back over my shoulder to make sure the shadowy figure wasn’t following us.

It was.

Along with two more.

Oh fates.

We were up shit creek.

Their magic felt so much more powerful when they were together. Strength in numbers, but in the worst way.

There was no way to fight these things—not in this realm. Not without our magic.

My seeker sense tugged at me, and I followed, lungs burning and heart pounding.

“Fly,” Tarron said.

I tried calling upon my wings. They flared from my back, and I launched myself into the sky.

I barely rose four feet into the air, then slammed back down, stumbling into a run.

Tarron did no better.

Our wings helped us fly—but so did our magic. His were made of lightning and mine of an ephemeral substance that was a bit like water. We needed our magic to fly.

“Fates, we’re fucked.” Tarron looked over his shoulder.

I glanced back. The reapers were gaining. They were fast, damn it.

A low growl sounded from my left. I looked down, and my heart leapt. “Burn!”

The Thorn Wolf raced alongside me, his form totally solid. He wasn’t a ghost-like creature. Not like us.

He shot me a look with his flaming red eyes, then veered off to the right and back around, headed straight for the reapers that followed us. He formed a barrier, crouching and growling. His spikey hide rose, and he shot thorns at our attackers. The long black projectiles sailed through the reapers, but as the spikes passed through them, they howled and slowed.

“He’s buying us time,” Tarron said.

“We need to be faster. To hide.” The tree trunks all around us were wide, but we needed more cover. Burn wouldn’t be able to hold the reapers off for long unless we were really lucky. And our luck hadn’t exactly